gold in your eye

i got into my BMW and drove down to my bank . to pick up my american express gold card .

i told the girl at the desk what i wanted .

" you're Mr . chinaski . "

she said .

" yes . you want want some i . d . ?

 " oh no . we know you. . ."

 i slipped the card into my wallet .

went back to parking .

got into the BMW . ( paid for . straight cash .)

and decided to drive down to the liquor store for a case of fine wine .

 on the way . i further decided to write a poem about the whole thing .

: the BMW . the bank . the gold card .

just to piss-off the critics

the writers .

the readers .

who much preferred the old poems about me .

sleeping on park benches while

freezing .

and dying of cheap wine .

and malnutrition .

this poem is for those who think that a man can only be a creative

genius .

at the very edges .

even thought they never had the guts to try it .